Page 6 of Angelo’s Vengeance (The Commission #3)

THEODOSIA

I twirled a measuring tape around my fingers as I strutted through my so-called atelier—if you could even call it that.

It was more of an underground fashion den, a vibrant, chaotic blend of neon lights, mismatched furniture, and racks of daring one-of-a-kind designs.

A year ago, I’d arrived in Europe on a whim, chasing a dream I wasn’t entirely sure was mine.

Now, I thrived among the misfits, dressing the rule-breakers who thrived outside the mainstream.

My ever-exasperated but devoted assistant, Vivienne, appeared in the doorway, arms crossed. “You’ve got a message, Theo.”

Mid-spin with a glittery swatch of fabric that I was considering for a lemon yellow top with puff sleeves, I raised a brow. “Ooh, is it a love letter? Finally, someone appreciates me.”

Vivienne smirked. “Probably more like a threat, but sure, let’s call it romance if you want.”

Vivienne had been my steadfast friend here in Italy, ensuring that I wasn’t lonely in my pursuit of fashion domination.

We bonded in Milan during fashion week in what I would describe as one of my more interesting adventures.

There was a perfect opportunity to catch a glimpse backstage at the Chanel show, and I couldn’t resist. How was I to know that they’d mistake me for one of the models?

I was curvy, to say the least, and busty, but the stylist had insisted.

To say that one of the models took offense is an understatement.

Chaos ensued. Hijinks unfolded, and security was called, but they were slow to respond.

In the end, it was more than a little comical, and Vivienne, who was working as a stylist, played an instrumental role in my escape.

Later, we met up and shared a good laugh about it.

Good times. She decided that we were destined for great things, and we’ve been together ever since.

She tossed a sleek white envelope onto the worktable. I plucked it up with dramatic flair, tearing it open. My playful expression faltered as I read the single line inside.

Your groom is waiting. It’s time to go home.

Clicking my tongue, I shook my head. “Well, that’s ominous. Very ‘mysterious stranger in the shadows’ vibes. I kinda love it.”

Vivienne leaned over and examined the note, frowning before shooting me a pointed look. “You still don’t think anything at home is connected to your business mysteriously falling apart? The suppliers backing out, the clients ghosting you?”

I had been vague with Vivienne about the entire situation concerning my brothers’ criminal activities and my anticipated role as a mafia bride.

Those weren’t exactly things that the average person could understand.

Vivienne was awesome, and I considered her a good friend, but she had no point of reference for the world I grew up in.

You couldn’t just lay that on someone all of a sudden, and trust wasn’t something that came easily in our world.

Lately, I increasingly appreciated Frankie and how we had grown up together.

My best friend came built-in with knowledge of all my secrets, so there was no tiptoeing around the murky waters of the illegal nature of my family business.

Having relationships outside the underworld was difficult.

You had to watch your words and actions, and you never knew when others were taking advantage of you.

And sure, we had faced some unexpected difficulties with the business.

Things had been growing at first. I’d had clients and everything.

It was hard to pinpoint the cause when we couldn’t get anyone to return our calls.

Things had been going well, and then suddenly, everything came to a screeching halt.

I considered asking my brothers for help, but that was a whole mess of its own, and part of me worried that Ilias would mention coming home.

That he would encourage it. I wasn’t sure if I could take that.

It was something I didn’t want to do. Even though I missed Frankie and our little apartment in New York, I knew she was happy with Conall.

My best friend was finally settled, and that made my heart glad.

It was the only way I felt good about coming to Europe and pursuing the piece of myself that I’d wanted to explore for years to see if I had what it took to survive in the industry.

As I eyed the message, I chewed on my thumbnail. I knew my family wouldn’t have sent it. Certainly, it wasn’t from Angelo Santelli. The dick. He didn’t want me. Even I knew that, no matter how much it hurt.

But …

Your groom is waiting.

The groom could only be Angelo Santelli. According to the blood oath, that was who I had to marry. The entire New York organized crime world knew it.

I sighed and flopped onto a velvet-upholstered chair, kicking up my boots. “Viv, I was hoping for sabotage from a rival designer, not creepy cryptic messages. I mean, at least that’s industry drama. This? This is personal. It might be from someone back in New York,” I admitted.

The criminal underworld resembled a spider web, even at its best, but one filled with cannibal spiders constantly devouring each other.

It was smart never to trust anyone except your family.

Naturally, I included Francesca in that group.

She was different. But everyone else — no.

Everyone was always trying to outdo each other, seize territory, push in, and kill one another.

This is why the break in Europe had been so refreshing. Nobody here belonged to that world.

Oblivious to my dark thoughts, Vivienne continued, “Speaking of industry drama—Bassiano Torsiello wants to meet tonight.”

“Tonight?” I sat up, suddenly intrigued, turning the note upside down and pushing it under the corner of a fabric swatch.

If I couldn’t see it, then it didn’t exist. Bassiano was a big deal, the kind of designer who oozed exclusivity.

I would love to meet with him. “The Bassiano Torsiello? Mr. ‘I Only Work with Legends’?”

“That one. If people see you meeting with him …” she trailed off, her eyebrows lifting hopefully.

“They’ll stop treating me like a fashion outcast?

” I grinned. “Fantastic! What are the details?” I clapped my hands together and tried to feel re-energized.

Maybe I could wear my cute jumpsuit I’d just finished.

This downturn in business affected not just me but also Vivienne.

If I couldn’t make things work for Mythos Designs , it could be the end of things here in Florence for me, for us .

Vivienne arched a brow. “You’re not even a little worried about the message?”

I waved a hand dismissively. “Please. If someone wants me home so badly, they’ll need to put in more effort than just a little note. This isn’t first grade. Until then, I have a date with destiny. And possibly Bassiano Torsiello.” I waggled my eyebrows.

Jumping to my feet, I spun in a blur of silk and sequins. The note still lingered in my mind, but I was nothing if not a performer. If someone thought they could rattle me, they were about to be very, very disappointed.

“I need something fabulous to wear!”

And I would not think about Angelo Santelli.

I would not think about home.